there was a void inside her,a dark closet with a locked doorwhere she dare not ignite the filament,for, when light spread its ominous tentacles, fearful tears came and eyes averted, while scratchy, well-used voices shouted at her from shadowed corners,reminding her she shouldn't, couldn't, didn't measure up,doesn't deserve

she has this quiet, humble confidence and these kind, welcoming eyes,
a classic, artful line about her

the graceful curve of her shoulder muscles eluding to her tranquil strength,
her delicate neck and the unpretentious way she holds herself, mesmerizing,
a tactile symmetry that whispers my name

the way the silky, black fabric rests on the soft edges of her collarbone,
making me wish I could follow them beneath

her exposed upper back begging for soft kisses,
for finger trails that cause the rest to arch in anticipation,
making me want to see just that

and there she sits,
tucking in a few stray strands of that beautiful, auburn hair,
twisted so effortlessly off her shoulders,
completely unaware of the attention,
her beauty so natural,
an easy, feminine elegance,
all woman,
mine

I’m gonna walk over there,
gonna wrap my arms around her and lead her to dance floor,
kiss the muscled line running from behind her ear and down her neck,
the one that leads to that inviting dip in her clavicle

she sat on the couch,
the smell of freshly popped popcorn laced with a faint whisper of strawberry shampoo filling the air around her,
as her youngest daughter folded herself into her,
arms wrapping years around her small frame,
holding them in

she glanced from one side to the other,
catching her oldest daughter in a throw-your-head-back giggle,
and her husband with his face all smile and eyes bright with joy

and just like that,
she felt them all blow through her chest,
simultaneously filling her to all her edges,
and turning her to dust

she snuggled into him,
resting her head in the nook of his shoulder,
finding it was made just for her

here, her soul was at rest,
a rest she hadn’t ever known before,
and closing her eyes,
she savored

the way his palm delicately glided over her curls,
fingers grasping in silky handfuls and lifting,
each individual strand falling to a goose-fleshed tickle against her back

the whispered words, warm against her cheek,
swelling her heart and causing her lip to quiver,
the gentleness of his soft lips against her forehead,
and arms which drew her so close,
she could no longer tell where he ended
and she began

she couldn’t imagine ever forgetting –
she wanted to preserve each breath as she breathed it,
every feeling as it overtook her

scooping each fluttering second into an old pickle jar,
she filled it to the rim,
illuminating like a warm summer night’s fireflies

all I can think about
is the way you sneak behind me
in the kitchen and squeeze me into you,
nuzzling your face into my neck,
whispering sweet and naughty
phrases as your whiskers tickle,
giving me goosebumps

the way you tuck me in at night,
pulling the covers up just how I like them,
smoothing the white duvet,
tucking it over my exposed shoulder
so I don’t get cold,
then crawling in to mold your body
around mine

the way you watch me when I don’t know
you’re watching,
and I look up, meeting your gaze unexpectedly,
only to see that expression on your face
that still gives me butterflies,
the look in your eyes saying much more
than words ever could

the way we laugh till our bellies hurt,
and cry free tears,
our emotions free to be exactly
what they are

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